


Drabbles: Because I Can

by WeOffendedShadows



Category: Marvel (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drabbles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-27 05:57:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeOffendedShadows/pseuds/WeOffendedShadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I'm dumping all the drabbles i've written for tumblr here. The pairings are going to vary, though probably mostly het, and mostly going to stick just with the Avengers(film) universe, though might be some crossever depending on how i feel. Rating subject to change. These are all un-betaed(will fix if i find one)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint x Darcy, Steve x Natasha: Dinner

Darcy watched as Clint and Natasha danced, because there really was no other word for how the two acted with each other, so planned and careful, each move a graceful and beautiful extension of the previous one, around the kitchen preparing the meal for the two couples. Steve stood off to the side, offering to help whenever and wherever he could. But each time, Natasha would step over, without breaking the dance, kiss his cheek, and return to the stove, sauteing some vegetables while Clint prepared the main course, one of his selection. In fact, most of the night was his choice. 

Darcy was used to Clint's unique tastes and eating habits; she had been staying over permanently for a few weeks now and had found herself enjoying the non-meat meals he made. So many new recipes and tastes that he opened her up to, just as she was the one who opened him up to the idea of them dating. Took long enough, she thought, smiling behind her glass as Natasha slapped Steve's hand as he moved forward to help with something. 

There was an order to things, and a place for silverware, a location for pans, a spot for food of all kinds, one that Natasha seemed to understand, and Clint knew intuitively, and Darcy ignored. It wasn't on purpose and Clint never got mad at her, he never raised his voice, which she was happy about, though she never knew why. She never askd, and at least she knew Clint was happy about that.

"So what's the main course?" Steve asked, at least trying to look like he was involved. Darcy was used to being on the outside of the two assassins. What Clint and Natasha shared something profound and heartbreaking, it wasn't love. Their trust came from placing their lives in each others hands over and over again, with no one else to trust. She could dig that. Steve was still trying to find how he fit in Natasha's life, especially because she could(probably still does frequently from what Clint was saying this morning) kick his ass and never once require his help or anyone's help. Sometimes, Darcy felt sorry for him, when Natasha decided she wanted him, it was a rather forceful and direct courtship, whose short length was only rivaled by Steve's experience and Natasha's snark. 

"Channa Masala," Natasha said.

"Where's the meat?" he asked. 

"There isn't any," she replied, and gave a smile that said the conversation was over.

"Why?" 

"Because Clint's here."

"Why?" The dance stopped, and all eyes turned to Steve, who at least had the decency to blush and look away. Natasha had a blank look while Clint continued to chop some other vegetables. Darcy had wanted to know, but never asked. It was Clint, thats all. Nothing that special. THe fact that she accepted him for all he was, flaws and terrors and all, made him love, yes love, which Darcy realized she never felt before, her even more. 

It was the gentle smile he gave her when he woke her up, a coffee cup in her hand before a kiss. It was the soft looks when she woudl stretch in her sweaters, just her sweater. The sweet kisses he placed on her cheek in public, and teh fierce and demanding in private. It was his walk and his talk, it was everything about him that drove her to ask him out one night, drunk and tired. She didn't care that he was vegan. It was just Clint. But that didn't mean she wasn't curious. 

"Because after you eat rat raw, meat loses its flavor," Clint said, taking the cutting board sliding its contents into the hot oil. 

Steve dropped his glass, and Natasha grabbed it before it hit the floor. She galred at him for bringing up the topic, and turned to Clint, almost begging him not to continue. "It was five years ago, before I met Nat, and I was held in a five by five by five cell for information. I honestly don't remember much, even the call that I sent after killing thirteen men, the entire roster at that complex, with a broken hand. But I remember the taste."

Darcy stepped around the island and wrapped her arms around Clint. He hadn't moved from the stovetop, just pushing the food around in the pan. "it sits on my tongue, and the rough texture of the fur, matted with blood and feces. I can still taste that iron, sometimes when I wake up, and Darc isn't there." She squeezed him tighter. "I can feel it sliding down my throat, and fighting back the bile, despite how hungry I was, because of the bones that I was crunching between my teeth."

"Clint," she said, and kissed his back. His shoulders sagged gently, and he relaxed for the first time that night. 

"I mean, its not a big deal, but I just can't eat-"

"How bout the local sports team?" Steve said, ending the conversation as quickly as he had started it. Darcy figured that Natasha would yell at him later, though she appreciated the attempt. Nat pulled her boytoy away to the sitting area, leaving Clint, who refused to look at any one, and Darcy, who refused to look at anyone else, alone. 

"I'm okay," Clint said, though didn't turn to look at her. "Really, I am."

"I know," Darcy said. 

"I just have my quirks," he continued. "Some of them from the circus, some of them from the job, some of them from that. Its not a big deal."

"of course."

"I mean-"

"Clint," Darcy made him face her, "Hun, really, its fine. You are doing great. Steve is still so naive about somethings that I forget he doesn't have any tact."

"Says the pot."

"I've learned," she replied, a smile returned to his face. "Want any help?" The meal was almost done and ready to be served. 

Clint nodded. "Sure, I don't mind you around."

"I'm here until I'm ready to leave."

"Good to hear," he said. "Good to hear."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this because I had the idea for another character in another fandom for another fic that I’m working on. But it seemed so good with Clint, and I just wanted to get it on a page so I don’t forget.
> 
> Also I’m looking for a beta.


	2. IKEA

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve/Darcy: IKEA 
> 
> taken as a prompt from a friend. Written in twenty minutes b/c i promised her that it would be done.

“Its not like he’s from IKEA,” she wanted to shout. “You should fucking be able to put it together without a god damn instruction guide!”

It should surprise her that Tony was the one who pulled her into his arms. It should also surprise that Darcy wrapped her arms around him before he said anything and cried against his shirt, her face just below the heart he built for himself. But at the moment, with her boyfriend lying on an operating table as they attempted replace the organs torn from his body by an overzealous minion, Darcy didn’t care that her boss was comforting her. 

Steve Rogers, the second man to enter her life and them completely fuck it up, though this time in a good way, was hidden in an operating room, underneath white sheets, his stomach and chest open up as the doctors worked fast against his healing ability. The only reason she knew it was him was the lack of an IV of pain killers and sedation they had him. Steve was awake, strapped down, and trying his hardest not to move. The pain killers worked too quickly and sedation of any form failed. He was forced to remain conscious as the doctors twiddled and prodded his body, as far as Darcy was concerned. 

They were doing nothing, but standing around him, slowly cutting him again when they waited too long and something began to heal. Three hours had past, and Steve was still away at the moment, though Darcy had wondered why, something she wanted to whisper into the tear stain shirt of her boss, but for the moment would just sob. Sobbing was good, it meant she ddin’t have to speak her fears out loud where they could become reality.

The entire team was with them, though at the moment, on the observation deck, It was just her and Tony. Natasha had stolen Clint away in a means of getting him checked out, while Bruce cited the need to make sure that they were doing everything they could. A disemboweling meant a lot of work to even restore it close to new, and Steve’s body simply was just trying to restore it, without a care what it was healing over. Thor had to walk away, claiming that his presence would disturb the machines, while Darcy figured that he couldn’t watch what his friend was experiencing. Jane took him down the cafeteria and Pepper stepped out to speak with Coulson(fucker was living the high life of jello and pudding when they found out he was alive, still owed her for that first ipod). Tony stayed though.

The doctors ignored her outbursts, thankfully, and kept working as a speen was removed, cleaned and reattached to the body, which hungrily absorbed it back-her hands shook and her eyes pinched closed. There is no blessing without a curse, Steve said once, when they were lying in bed, a night of amorous cuddling(damn his Catholic and wholesome nature) finished with a movie of some type. This was Steve’s curse. Nothing healed right, if left to its own agenda, so they had to help it alone. Set the bone, after breaking them countless times to ensure that it healed in the proper spot. Stitch the wounds, after slicing, stretching and squeezing the wound so it would heal as good as new. 

There was no instruction manual for Steve Rogers; they had to play it by ear. Tony had a set of doctors, including an strange one that she didn’t even realized was a doctor from his outfit, come in and try to establish a baseline for them to use in the event something like this happened. SO that they could rebuild him properly when his body just rushed head long into the healing process. 

It just left her a mess every time she had to watch. There was no instruction manual for them, and she had to figure out how much more she could take, watching the best thing to enter her life since her Jane, lying dying and reborn again and again on the table, as mortal men worked on some abstract design on a coffee table or something fantastically difficult like that without an english portion named Steve Rogers.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve X Darcy: Honeycomb

Saturday mornings, she declared on a cool November Friday night when they were watching a terrible “reality” television show that she had fallen in love with, were going to be Darcy Day. Steve just nodded and continued to rest on her hair, taking in the scent that was distinctly Darcy and honey. He had still a hard time accepting the way she wiggled herself into his life, albeit it wasn’t a bad thing. She left that night without as much fuss as she had previously, just a smile and a promise that he will enjoy Darcy Day. 

Steve had found himself sleeping later and later on the weekends, enjoying the chance to finally rest that he never had during the war, and afterwords it was tests and procedures, and studying the many things that he had missed out. But ever since he had taken Stark up on his offer to move into the Avengers Tower, as the man so proudly proclaimed, Steve just slept when he could on his own time. 

But on Darcy Day, apparently, he no longer had that right. She was at his door, prior to seven o’clock. Struggling to pick himself up, Steve shuffled his way out of his bedroom to the door. 

“Hey there handsome,” she said, her eyes smiling more than the rest of her fact could, a sucker in one hand, a bag of items it other, as well as a backpack. The schoolgirl outfit and pigtails was also something he didn’t miss. “Ready for Darcy Day?”

“And what does that have to do with waking me up?” 

“because Darcy Day starts with- Eyes up, blue boy,” Darcy replied. Steve jerked his vision up to hers, that damn subtle smile of hers, the one that told him he did as she wanted but without even telling him what she wanted. Darcy walked in, her hips shifting left and right with his eyes following as she walked by in that short skirt and tight white button down shirt. 

The proceed to sit in front of his rather large television, courtesy of Stark again, eating an odd honeycomb shaped cereal with her pressed right against him, almost sitting in his lap. And he can’t get enough of that smell: honey, old books, and just a hint of acrylic paint and gunpowder(he never asked about that one, but still, the soldier in him found it comforting in a odd way). Darcy laughed and shifted about, letting him just pull her closer and closer as they watched Saturday Morning Cartoons, recordings from her childhood. 

At one point she turned and found her nose touching his. That smile was back, the one hidden in her eyes. Steve’s arm was holding her onto his lap by her waist, the other hand resting firmly on her knee-high stockings(red, white and blue, he noticed). “enjoying Darcy Day?” she asked; Steve felt her warm breathe on his stubble, something she refused to let him shave off before this morning. 

“Very much so?” His breathe hiked up a second as one of her hands found his chest and spread its fingers across it. 

“Is that a question?” Steve shook his head. “Ready for the next part?” He didn’t wait any longer and leaned forward slightly, his lips touching hers for a brief moment; his eyes never left her lively blue ones, the smile still there. As he pulled away, he watched as the smile finally reached her face, spreading itself throughout her body. Darcy closed her eyes and shivered slightly, the smile expanding and taking over her. When Steve say her look back at him again, he felt like the next part might take up the rest of Darcy Day. Somehow, missing the sleep didn’t seem so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting good at stealing prompts.


	4. Clint/Darcy: Ent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "There are no curse words in elvish, orc, ent or the tongues of men for this treachery."

Darcy woke up, well, fell out of her bed and attempted to call it waking up. Mornings were things that should not exist, and since they did, they should be burned off the face of the earth until they no longer existed. The sun burned her eyes, and she stumbled to her feet, bracing her dresser and stubbing her toe against it in an attempt to right herself.   
Each step was a painful reminding that she was awake far earlier than she should have been, which was closer to never. They were steps away from her bed, who called to her, begging that she return to sleep, and never partake in the activities that required her to be awake. 

But there was reprieve, a kindness that waited for her, only twenty steps away. Her mind, however addled by the fact that sleep had chosen to leave her, knew it. Only twenty steps and the glorious nectar that was coffee would be in her hands. 

Grumbling, she waved at the body, whom she knew in the back of her mind to be her boyfriend of three weeks watching some terrible morning cartoons, and continued forward. Ten steps and she would have the only reprieve she would get to break the hold morning had on her.

A hand on the counter guided her to the majestic container that held-

It was empty. The coffee pot was empty. Her one and only bit of happiness in the mornings was gone, taken from her before she could experience the joy and wonderfulness of black elixir of life. Where, where did it-

"Morning dear!" Clint said. He finally looked over the couch to see Darcy stumbling her way into the kitchen. Her hair a fright, all up above her head as though branches and leaves were stuck in it. She moved slowly, careful to not be hasty.

She turned and looked at her, a glare in his eye, and Clint realized he forgot that the cup of coffee in his hand. "There are no curse words in elvish, orcish, ent and the tongues of Men for this treachery."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ignoring HW and the superbowl, this is what happens while watching Two Towers and realizing how epic that phrase is and thus needs to be stolen and used in a fic. enjoy


End file.
